Unexpected
by finnstardust
Summary: Darren goes to the Marin house to talk to Ashley, but finds a broken Hanna instead. Darren/Hanna, post 3x04. One-shot at least for now.


A/N: Wow, I haven't written anything in years but since I seem to always fall for ships that probably don't have a snowball's chance in Hell of ever happening, I wrote this after watching PLL 3x04 - I have not watched anything past episode 6 so if there is anything in this that doesn't make sense in light of later events, my apologies. Read on and if you feel like it, I would very much like some feedback.

* * *

The late Saturday morning was bright and breezy as Darren Wilden crossed the concrete walkway to the front door of a large, two-storey house. Pressing the doorbell briefly, he studied a hydrangea bush next to the door that was obviously suffering from an acute lack of water, smirking to himself: obviously neither of the ladies living here had a keen interest in gardening.

There was no response and he pressed the bell again, glancing upwards at the window which he knew to be one of the bedrooms. There was no movement and he took a couple of steps back, was about to turn and leave when the door finally cracked open, revealing an exhausted-looking young blonde girl.

"Oh, it's you," she said listlessly, made a face. "What do you want?"

"Morning, Hanna." He gave her a brief smile. "Is your mother home?"

"No." She crossed her arms, stared at him. "Why? Have you come to arrest me again?"  
He chuckled, remembering what she was referring to: he had also asked for her mother when he had showed up on her door to arrest her for shoplifting a pair of sunglasses, on a warm summer evening, over a year ago now.

"No. I was hoping to talk to her for a bit."  
"Well, she's not here and even if she was, I'm pretty sure she wouldn't want to talk to you." She stepped back, started to close the door. "Have a nice day, detective, if that's even possible for you."

"Wait." He frowned, studying her face a little more closely and noticing that in addition to the obvious exhaustion that was radiating off her in waves, her eyes were swollen as if she had been crying, dark circles evident beneath them. Her blonde hair was knotted, lacking its usual shine and she was clad in pyjamas.

"Hanna, is everything okay?"  
"Fine," she said with an emotionless voice. "If that's all, I would like to get back to bed, please."

Darren didn't have to glance at his watch to know it was past eleven in the morning; he was well aware she probably liked to sleep in at weekends like many other people her age but this seemed a little extreme.

"Hanna, what is it?"  
She rolled her eyes. "I already said it's nothing. And even if it was, what makes you think I would talk about it to _you_, of all people?"  
He smiled; she was feisty even rolling straight out of bed. "Well, sometimes it helps to talk to someone who… doesn't know you so well. How about I make some coffee, which you obviously need and you can tell me what's wrong?"  
"How about you bite me?"

He shrugged, eyes flashing a challenge at her. "I can do that too."

A slight blush rose on her cheeks at the double meaning behind his words. "Eww. Go away."

He grabbed the door before she had the chance to close it. "Hanna, seriously, are you ill? Where's your mother?"

"I'm fine," she said slowly, stressing each syllable. "I am not sick, unless you count being sick of you, and I don't want to talk to you. I don't want to talk to anyone so could you please leave?"

He was starting to get a little worried now; despite of the usual fire still burning with a small flame inside her, she seemed so tired, depressed even. Disregarding the fact that she would probably freak out completely, he made the decision there and then to not leave her alone, stepping past her into the foyer.

"What the hell do you think…?"  
"Hanna, come on." He headed for the kitchen. "Something is obviously bothering you and if your mother isn't here, then I should find out if I can help. Call it my duty as a police officer, if you wish."

He started to make coffee and she stared for a while, then sighed heavily. "Whatever. I'll get dressed. Don't make yourself at home, very much."  
Darren grinned, focused on the coffee machine, grabbing a couple of mugs out of a cabinet. She was back a mere five minutes later, now wearing a college sweatshirt and track pants and he frowned; this was miles from her usual perfectly put-together attire. He also noticed, with somewhat of a worry, that she hadn't bothered to do anything about her face or her hair; not that he expected her to make an effort for him but it only added to the heavy aura of depression that seemed to be hanging around her.

He handed her a mug, filled to the brink with coffee; he knew she took hers black. Sipping his, he watched her over the rim, watched as she slowly took a few sips. "Is the coffee okay?"  
She shrugged. "It's fine."  
"Good." He took a seat by the kitchen table, motioned her to do the same. "Now, tell me what's wrong."

She glared at him challengingly still. "What makes you think anything is?"  
He smiled, drummed his fingers against the table. "Hanna, I can tell. I can read you; you're not okay, far from it."

She made a face. "Then stop reading me, if it bothers you."  
"I can't." He was perfectly aware of what she thought of him, what she had thought of his affair with her mother, but all that had to be pushed to the background now. "Talk to me, Hanna."

She shook her head, exasperated, stared into her mug, finally sighing.

"Caleb left me."

The words were so quiet it took him a moment to process what she had said. "Your boyfriend?"  
She nodded, a tear slowly making its way down her cheek. For a moment he thought about reaching to wipe it away, but he was pretty sure that would result in scalding coffee meeting his face. At least this explained the downbeat appearance, the swollen eyes; she had probably spent the entire night crying.

"Why?"

Hanna sniffed. "Several… several things."

"Fixable things?" He got up, got her a tissue. "Can you talk it through?"

He could hardly believe he was sitting in the Marin household kitchen, giving relationship advice to a teenage girl; knowing his own somewhat disastrous history with women he didn't know what help he could possibly be. He'd had a lot of girlfriends but his career had always taken first priority, eventually driving each one of them away.

Another tear escaped Hanna's eye. "I don't think so."

"Come on now." He studied her, bit his lip; this girl was shattered, her heart obviously in pieces. It made him sad, to see her spirit dampened like this. "You're both seventeen. What could possibly be so bad you can't work it out?"

She pulled her knees up, wrapped her arms around them. "I don't want to talk about this anymore."

"Okay." He scratched his head. "Hanna, where's your mother? Why aren't your friends here? You need support; I know you're strong but no one should be alone in this situation."

"Well, you're here, aren't you?" She shot him a glare. "Mum's in Philadelphia for the day. I haven't told her about this. My friends… what could they do?"

"Support you," he said again. "Watch sad chick flicks with you. Share a ton of chocolate. Abuse him verbally until you feel better."

The briefest of smiles tugged the corner of her mouth. "Oh."

"Do you want me to call your mother?"

She narrowed her eyes. "You'd love that, wouldn't you? Why did you want to see her anyway? She's not interested; are you ever going to get that through your thick head?"

He had, sort of; deep inside he had known for a while now that no matter what he might have wanted, Ashley Marin didn't share it. Still, he had come here for one more try; who would have guessed he'd encounter her grieving daughter instead?

"I just wanted to talk," he eventually said, as she was still regarding him with extreme suspicion. "It's not important."

Hanna shrugged, glanced at his empty coffee mug. "Leave then."

She leaned her forehead on her knees, her shoulders sagging. "Everyone leaves anyway. My father, Sean, Alison, Caleb and…"

He frowned. "And?"

She made a face, as if catching herself just on time. "Never mind. The point is, no one wants to be around me."

He swallowed; her sadness was so heavy, so impenetrable. "Hanna, it's not your fault any of them left."

"Whose fault is it then?" She lifted her head again, studied him with pained eyes. "What's the uniting factor for all of the above? Me."

"Hanna…" Darren sighed, stood and circled the table, pulling out the chair that was next to hers. "Listen to me. You are not to blame for any of those people. I don't know exactly what went on with Caleb or Sean, but your father was too selfish to care for his own daughter. Alison was murdered. It wasn't your fault."

She stared at him, uncertainty obvious in her sky blue, red-rimmed eyes. "According to you, it was. You still think I killed her."  
"No, I don't." He judged touching her might be safe now as she had also finished her coffee, gently brushed a wisp of hair from her forehead. "Hanna, you and your friends have done some things that make absolutely no sense and yes, I have to regard those as suspicious, but it's not in you to kill one of your best friends; Hell, it's probably not in you to even kill a fly."

She sniffled. "Well, if I can let them out instead…"

He laughed, squeezed her hands. "See? You don't have a bad bone in your body. How could you possibly be to blame for anyone else's behaviour?"

They sat quietly for a while, then her eyes narrowed at him. "Why are you being so nice?"

He frowned. "What?"  
"You're not nice." She pulled away from him, looking wary. "You're never nice; you couldn't care less that my boyfriend dumped me. Are you trying to sweet-talk me into confessing something?"  
"No." He rubbed his face, exasperated. "Hanna, is it so difficult to believe that I might actually be worried about you?"  
"Yes. Yes, it is." She looked away from him, determinedly. "I'm not saying anything anymore."  
"You don't have to." He leaned against the back of the chair. "But I'm not leaving until I know you're okay. Please tell me if there's anything I can do to help you."  
"Fabulous," she muttered, pushed back thick blonde hair. "And exactly how many weeks are you planning on spending here, until I feel better? Because I don't see that happening any time soon."

"I know that right now it feels like things will never be well again." He carefully touched her arm, didn't remove his hand despite her flinching. "But they will. One day, you won't feel this pain anymore. Little by little, it's going to fade."

A couple more tears drifted down her face, then it crumbled, as though she had finally reached a breaking point. "It's not… pain. It's agony."

"I know." He gently pulled her closer, somewhat surprised when she came willingly, buried her face against his shirt; he could feel it getting soaked through in seconds. "I know."

She cried for a long time, her shoulders trembling, shivers moving through her slender frame; he rubbed her back in what he hoped to be a comforting motion, muttered reassuring words to her. He remembered his own first heartbreak, remembered the pain; he'd spent weeks moping in his room, much to the worry of his mother but eventually the wound had healed. He hated to think about the possibility there were yet many heartbreaks to come in Hanna's life. She was strong, definitely; he knew that after observing her for over a year now but she was also sensitive.

Eventually she quietened, pulled back, staring at the front of his shirt, completely soaked. "I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it." He gently arched her head upwards, fingers underneath her jaw. "Feel any better?"

She nodded mutely, watching him with a strange, almost wild expression in her eyes. It took him a while to realize she was staring at his lips, and by the time he did, by the time he realized he really should get out of the situation, she had already closed the distance between them, pressed her lips on his.

Darren was so stunned at first that he remained still for a good while, sensing her soft lips, her wet eyelashes against his cheek. Automatically, he started kissing her back, tilted his head to get better access, heard her moan somewhere deep in her throat. She lifted her fingers to his shirt, undid the row of buttons, her fingers warm against his chest… It wasn't until she started to push the fabric from his shoulders that he returned to his senses, managed to separate their lips, to gently push her away.

"Hanna, no."

She stared at him with burning eyes. "You said… you said if there was anything…"

"Yes, but I didn't mean this." He shook his head, tried to get the feeling of her lips out of his head. He could practically _see_ the walls snapping up and around her; she pulled back, embarrassment flooding her face. In a way he could understand why she had felt the need to do this; he knew she probably felt horrible, like no one wanted her, had wanted to somehow prove herself wrong and he was worried now that he had instead, unintentionally, proved her right.

Her eyes flashed fire at him. "Get out."

"Hanna." He buttoned his shirt back up, touched her cheek. "Hanna, you're hurting. You don't know what you're doing."  
"Yeah, yeah." She stood abruptly, kicked her chair back under the table. "You only want my mother, I know."  
"That's not it." He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times; he didn't have a clue how to deal with this, it was pretty much the last thing he had ever expected would take place between them.

"Hanna, I can't take advantage of you like this. You would hate yourself afterwards; I would hate myself. Not to mention how much you would hate me."

"I already hate you," she muttered darkly, her cheeks still crimson. "What difference would it make?"

He sighed, tried to ignore her words even though they did hurt slightly; he didn't want her to hate him but he knew that he was probably entirely to blame for that, had brought it all on with his own behaviour, always interrogating and intimidating her. Despite all that, or maybe specifically because of it, the kiss had ignited something in the both of them; he had sensed her astonishment in the beginning, she had seemed surprised that it had actually felt good whereas he was suddenly aware that she was very beautiful, very tempting, could well threaten to get into his heart if he let her.

"Don't hate me, Hanna." He stood as well, faced her. "Don't waste your energy in hating me; it's a worthless emotion."

She said nothing, just turned to grab their coffee mugs, rinsed them in the sink mechanically.

"You should go now."

"Okay." He bit his lip, laid a hand on her shoulder, relieved when she didn't flinch away. "Call your friends, Hanna. Watch sad movies with them to get your misery out; I've heard The Notebook is a pretty good one for that purpose."  
She looked astonished for a moment, then chuckled weakly. "Thanks for the tip."

"Sure." He started walking out of the kitchen, turned back to look at her one more time.

"You will feel better, Hanna. Eventually. Take my word for it."

She inhaled shakily, nodded and he gave her a smile, exited the house. Leaning his head back on the headrest of his car, he closed his eyes for a moment, exhaled deeply.

Well, that hadn't been an ordinary Saturday morning at all.

* * *

_What had she done?_

Hanna sat on her bed, staring at the opposite wall without really seeing anything. Her face still burned with shame, her eyes even more with unshed tears; somehow it seemed that at least for now she couldn't cry any more. She pressed her hands on her cheeks, closed her eyes and rubbed at her brows slowly, feeling the first stirrings of an insomnia-induced headache coming on.

She couldn't believe what had happened. She had kissed Darren Wilden, had practically attacked him in her own kitchen; if he hadn't stopped her, she probably wouldn't have stopped herself either and things could have escalated much, much further. There was no denying she had enjoyed the kiss, enjoyed the surprising softness of his lips on hers; somehow the electricity that had formed between them and even the slight arousal had made it through her barrier of sad numbness.

Seeing him on her door had first brought on the familiar annoyance, the anger that he just couldn't leave her or her mother alone, couldn't get the hint that Ashley wasn't interested. Somehow he had gotten her to talk, she had spilled her guts to _him_ of all people, hell, she was so out of it right now that she could very well have told him about A if he had stayed any longer. She had almost slipped already with the list of people she felt had abandoned her; she had almost included Mona on that list but he didn't know about her former friend having been revealed as a psychotic stalker, obviously, and it would just have resulted in more suspicions and accusations about not telling him everything relevant to Alison's case.

And he had turned her down. He had turned her down and even though she knew, deep inside, that he had done the right thing, it still hurt. It annoyed her that he had been so… decent the one time when she had needed him for something, after the way he had treated her and everyone around her for an entire year. It annoyed her that he had been so caring, had listened and tried to help her because that wasn't something she associated with him; he was invasive, ruthless, calculating. Not warm, not caring, not _funny_, for God's sake, but somehow he had still almost gotten her to laugh when she hadn't really thought it was possible to even smile again anymore. She didn't want to be thinking of him in a completely new light now when she had so many other things that worried and stressed her; granted, he had always been on that list but at least until today he had been pretty much predictable.

But what annoyed her the most was the fact that she could still feel his lips on hers, could feel the warmth radiating from him, could feel the smooth, chiselled chest against her hands. It wasn't acceptable at all that her hands now ached to touch him again, this man she absolutely hated. She would have to treble her protective walls against him now but not for the reasons why they had been built in the first place. She would have to put up new ones around her heart and it made her angry; what right did he have to affect her this way? It had to be that she was just going insane with grief, this was some sort of a rebound thing; there was no other explanation.

Angrily, Hanna tugged her laptop closer, opened her movie folder. She didn't want to call her friends, right now she wanted to be alone, worried they would read something strange in her words, in her behaviour. She could very well watch that damn movie alone. How had he known about The Notebook anyway? He was a guy, for God's sake.

She sobbed her way through the film, to her endless annoyance noticing he had been right; when the end credits rolled and she pushed the computer away, she did feel marginally better. Maybe she had indeed taken the first tiny step towards healing with all the crying, gotten some of her misery out like he had suggested, not that she would ever in a million years admit that to him.

She decided that sleep would make it all go away, all the events of that morning; after swallowing a painkiller for her headache she buried herself under the covers again, closed her eyes determinedly but immediately his concerned green eyes appeared in her overactive imagination. She slammed her fist against the bed in frustration, cursing her stupid brain: surely it was meant to be Caleb who haunted her thoughts, both sleeping and waking, not Wilden?

Because she didn't care about him. She simply did not care about him at all. She would keep telling herself that until the end of time, if that's what it took.

Maybe eventually she would also learn to believe herself.


End file.
